


Scrutinized: Schrödinger

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Category: Scrutinized (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Home Invasion, Mentions of Death, Mild Language, Minor Violence, No Romance, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Strangulation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Death, and sleep. Two sides of a coin.If you flip the coin enough times, it will eventually land on death.But what face of the coin looks like death to you? And which one looks like sleep?
Kudos: 10





	Scrutinized: Schrödinger

**Author's Note:**

> Woooow, it’s been a million years since I last posted anything, but I’m back!...  
> in December!  
> With something I wrote in August!
> 
> Yay!
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this when Scrutinized was a big thing and I never posted it because I wasn’t terribly proud of it, buttttt... since it’s one of the few fanfic things I’ve written this year, I may as well post it!  
> Please enjoy!

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat nor gloom of night would stop their arrival.

It could apply to everything from postal workers to writers.

It applied to most who were willing to work through any conditions, a murderer or a kidnapper, though with a few choice caveats, would be the same way.

Sticky, humid summer air was not a favourite for them, though, they approached one particular house that contained this law-abiding thorn in their side that was shaped peculiarly like a broody young woman.

The woman who seemed to have a fetish for blinding passersby with this glaring light attached to her security cameras.

Save for bleached retinas, they were fine. It was like a game of cat and mouse. It was something to look forward to for them—“them” being the man in white with meticulously groomed light brown hair. Teeth as bright as the spotlights he always got an eye full of. (Bitter? Now Why would he be bitter? Who said he was bitter?)

Perhaps some would call him pusillanimous and easy to scare off, but he would prefer to call it being careful—erring on the side of caution.

And as for the white coat? Well, he had to show off that stealth wasn’t all about wearing black. Besides, what would stop someone from running him down with a car if he wore black?

He’d rather die at gunpoint than get run over. Wouldn’t  _that_ be an embarrassing way to go?

At least he was wearing white so it wouldn’t happen.

Meanwhile, he managed to slip past those damnable lights and press himself against the wall just beneath a camera, exploiting that thin sliver of a blind spot, sidling away from the glaring gaze of the eyes in the tree.

He passed through the watchful rays of the moon as he neared a window, peering in carefully and squinting into the thick, oppressive darkness. It was barely cut through by the thinnest blade of the humming streetlight behind him. The light glittered off the silvery doorknob ahead of him. He started to curl his fingers underneath the lip of the windowpane and tugged up. _No dice._

Then the doorknob began to turn as the homeowner was now meekly making her rounds.

The man rapidly ducked back down again. This particular woman was a clever one, quick, but not quite quick enough to stop him from creeping onto her property

Once again—this law-abiding thorn in his side had locked the windows.

He watched her flashlight’s beam pierce in through the window and light the tree branches up. Then he saw the guest bedroom’s light flash on, then heard the muffled sound of a door shutting again.

He sighed and stood back up, attempting to jiggle the window open again.

The window’s lock still held strong. It refused to budge.

The man looked around for something, a tool, anything—tacky iron garden art, a tiki torch, a few other things including an engraved polished granite stone that served as a memorial for her cousin.

There wasn’t even a trowel stabbed into the dirt nearby for him to use. She didn’t even have a damned  _shed_ for him to raid.

The man, in a short burst of inspiration—or frustration—picked up a rough, jagged stone bigger than his fist from the garden bed, temporarily contemplating just smashing the window open and getting it over with.

Everyone within the next block would surely hear a window crash with how nosey these neighbours were.

Damn this woman‘s ability to rally others at her call. Damn this neighbourhood watch. Damn this woman all around for being good at her job.

He raised his hand. Then hesitated, lowering his clenched fist again. He was getting far too emotional for his own good.

He stared at the large, grey garden stone in his hand thoughtfully. Was it really worth it? It was such an amateur tactic, too. He wasn’t some  _hooligan_ , he was a doctor—precise and potent.

He wasn’t even worried about damaging her property. He was more worried about drawing attention...

He took a deep breath. She was keeping this whole neighbourhood watch thing running like a machine. If anyone outside of her heard it, it wouldn’t matter because he’d be gone just as quickly as he had arrived.

She’d be the only one with a  _real_ eyewitness’ account—and to make doubly sure, he’d even remove her eyes.

Not for any real reason, though,  _just for fun_ .

There was a sudden, deafening smash of glass, and the man thrust his arm through the hole he’d made to unlock the window to avoid climbing past the jutting shards of glass still wedged into the lower sash.

He turned the latch around to the other side with a single finger, then threw the window open hastily, crawling his merry way into the house.

The desperation of getting into this place had made him sloppy.

He caught the sound of hurried footsteps coming from the living room. She was coming, he had to think fast.

_Need a weapon_ , he looked around,  _bed—pillow? No, this isn’t a fucking sleepover. Lamp? No, too far away—_

The footsteps were even closer now. He pawed the wall blindly until finding the edge of a picture frame, clutching it in his fist and ripping it down.

The door came open and the wall decoration was unceremoniously flung in the homeowner’s direction. However, it failed to hit her, as she pulled the door shut the very instant that she saw him winding up to throw it.

Instead, its corner hit the door and left a small dint in the wood.

He could hear her retreating, her steps were uneasy, and even a little hard to place.

She was shaken, and he was delighted, waiting some seconds for her to get a little further away.

It was just a sporting chance for her.

He went past the bed, opening the door and coming out into the hallway.

_Silence._

He closed the bedroom door up behind him, sliding his hand down its frame, smiling with his lips and his eyes as he walked through the hallway, listening for whatever sound he could catch. Ragged breaths, lightly rustling fabric, even the creak of a door... but there was nothing.

Just the sound of crickets exuding from the outside. Nature was leaking in...

He used his hand to deliver hollow thuds on the hallway wall with the side of his fist.

“ _Where are you?_ ” He sang, he slid his palm across the wall for a moment before pulling his arm back to his side, fist still clenched. “ _You’re starting to scare me, how about you come out and reassure me..._ ”

He was quiet for a time. Until he delivered one last solid hammer-fisted strike against the wall.

A frightened whimper perforated through the layers of wood, plaster, and insulation.

On the other side of those layers?  _The closet._

This lady had actually  _trapped_ herself!

He choked back a bubble of laughter and pivoted himself around the corner on his heel.

His fingers curled around the doorknob and he turned it, opening the door only to be set upon by the young woman brandishing a pair of scissors.

It was a valiant effort, but it didn’t keep him from grabbing her arm and then forcing the scissors out of her hand and onto the floor behind him.

“Oh no, no,” he said, “that’s not their intended purpose, Luna.” He scolded her, just waggling the pointer finger of his free hand in her face.

The woman twisted her self around in defiance. Her other arm folding at the elbow and angling upward to strike him in the side of the face.

That made him let her arm go, and she stepped away from the man, circling around to the living room. She reached down deftly, scooping the scissors in her fist again

The man seemed to just process the pain for a moment, he tasted metal, his tongue searched around his mouth, investigating for any cuts or loose teeth.

Upon finding little damage, he turned around and just sort of  _stared_ at her for a few tense moments.

Not out of shock, or even anger, indifference. His lips pursed, no smile, just a direct, cold  _stare_ .

“Huh,” he uttered distractedly, “playing nice isn’t on your agenda, is it, Luna?” He asked her, rubbing the corner of his mouth idly with a thumb.

“Stop saying my name.”

A pause, then the well-trimmed man laughed.

“What was that,  _Luna_ ?” He drew her name out defiantly as he walked toward her. “I don’t think I quite heard you right, I’m a little deaf in this ear...”

“I’m warning you.” She said, stepping back toward the front door, near the coatrack. Her weapon held close to her chest.

“What’re you going to do?” He asked her, looking down at the woman and her pair of scissors skeptically. “ _Stab me?_ ” He grinned lopsidedly at her.

He was having the time of his life right now.

This one, lone woman... she was kind of a  _riot_ . Killing her hadn’t really crossed his mind since he’d broken the window open. But it was still on the table, for sure.

She let out a frustrated grunt as she tried to make good on what he said. She raised the scissors up in her fist and started to make a violent motion with the intent to puncture.

“Hey, now, it was just a  _joke_ .” He asked her, weaving aside and deflecting her arm. “It was a  _little_ bit cheesy, but by God, grow a sense of humour.”

“You’re in  _my_ fucking  _house_ ,” she said, staring wide-eyed at him in disbelief, still holding the scissors like a makeshift dagger, “and you’re just making  _jokes_ ?” She almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this all was, but it was overtaken by pure murderous  rage .

She tried to hit him with her other hand.

He grabbed her fist in his fingers. “ _Yes._ ” He replied smugly, shoving her back a few steps.

She grimaced, regaining her balance and bringing her foot up to kick him in the stomach.

He’d had the sense to brace for it, but it still managed to knock the wind right out of him with an audible huff of air as his eyes opened wide.

Now, he was getting  _bored_ of this.

He grit his teeth, his hands resting on his upper thighs as he stood doubled over. And he set himself up straight after recuperating.

It was a pretty good shot on her part.

He just smiled again, taking in a deep, faux-calm breath of fresh air in through his nose, his eyes alight with hatred and malicious intent. “I was under the impression that we were friends, Luna,” he said, opening his arms and gesturing nonchalantly, “given that you enjoy keeping such a close and watchful eye on me.” He advanced forward. “I think you worry about me.”

“You won’t be able to evade the law forever,” she replied, ignoring his short tangent, and attempting to brush off the tension that was rising in the air between them as they stared at each other, “even if you kill me, you’ll be put away  _for good_ .” Despite being armed, she kept making even more distance between them.

He was silent as he concocted a response.

“Who said I was evading the law, Luna?” He retorted, his brows furrowed at her, his look was inhumanly cold, and his precise, unmoving gaze was boring holes into her face. “The way I see it, I’m walking right into the arms of the law. I’m afraid that the law isn’t as much the vigilant guardian angel as you think it to be.” He told her, shrugging and smiling blandly, something evil hidden behind that cheery visage.

A façade to hide what selfish ugliness he  _really_ had.

“Shut up.” She said viciously, baring her teeth. She was frustrated, just getting in a heated argument with a known and at-large murderer.

It never quite seemed weird to her until she realised it, shaking her head as if to press a reset button. She looked up at him. “Why are you here if not to kill me?”

The stranger just jutted his lower lip out and to the side thoughtfully, shrugging again. “Hmm... well, that  _was_ the plan, honestly...” he admitted, seeing her face shift subtly into the realm of fear.

Her expression struggled to keep itself straight and fearless. Though this was a harder feat to achieve than she had expected. She wasn’t exactly Broadway material but she had the spirit.

He just smiled.

She couldn’t keep all that delicious fear to herself. He knew how he got a cruel delight out of the terror that his victims felt.

But it was even more satisfying when they died by his hand. Their eyes just rolled back, the colour drained from their faces, their hearts stopped moving, their lungs deflated, and their brains shut down... just dreaming into the afterlife until the projector shut off.

There wasn’t very much that separated a corpse from an anatomical dummy. Except the smell after a few weeks.

He thought about seeing her like this.

But... not exactly  _dead_ . Peaceful. Quiet. Asleep.

Just sleeping. Breathing. Hands resting over her chest. Her brows relaxed, and she smells freshly-showered. Her bedclothes are soft and fleecy.

It fascinated him. The analogous nature of death and sleep—“sleep” was often euphemistic of its more permanent counterpart.

He loved seeing it, the cessation of any and all signs of life. All in one perfect moment. Frozen in time.

Murder could be committed for many reasons.

Vengeance, hatred, money, jealousy. But his was a special case.

He just loved death, decay, and the nature of a body desperately clinging to life.

As much as he would have wanted to see her die, watch her fade,  _something_ strange kept him from setting it in motion. It was like an intrusive thought.

He didn’t want her dead yet. And this was quite an unusual thing for him to feel.

He couldn’t quite place it, seeing her scared and angry, so emotional, he wondered what her other feelings looked like. Sadness, happiness.

What did her smile look like? How did her tears taste? How would her laugh ring in his ears?

Before he knew it, he had both of his broad hands wrapped around her soft neck.

Luna had attempted to thrust her scissors into him, but they slipped all too easily out of her sweaty hand, hitting the floor once more with a metallic clatter.

Her fingers clawed desperately at his arms as her knees buckled and dropped to the floor. Why wouldn’t she stop fighting? He didn’t want to kill her. He just wanted her to go to sleep.

By the time the police got there, Luna was alone, she was asleep on her living room floor, lying there with her hands poised over her chest as though she were lying in a coffin.

**Author's Note:**

> Noteses!:
> 
> — I wanted to depict Tanner as someone with an unhealthy obsession with death and with Luna.  
> It’s hard to pinpoint what it is about Luna that keeps him from killing her, but I suspect it’s due to enjoyment of the cat and mouse game they play.
> 
> — I found Tanner an incredibly interesting dude to play with. Luna’s fun, as well, but I’m absolute trash for murderous characters along Tanner’s vein.  
> I wanted to see if I could poke around in his head and figure out why he is the way he is. I’m sure I’m like way off, but this was just for fun.
> 
> — I wanted to avoid any overt romantic/sexual subtext between them in this fic.  
> But as stated above, I imagine Tanner does have a sort of fixation on Luna that potentially could translate as admiration in a weird way.  
> Her determination and iron will to press on toward justice. Tanner can’t help but find himself fascinated.
> 
> — Tanner strangling Luna at the end was an easy way to convey the dead and alive theme I was going with. Luna, in my head, is perfectly fine and asleep, but in another’s head, she could be dead. Tanner both wanted to kill her, and also didn’t.  
> It’s probably just silly abstract nonsense but it was fun to write!


End file.
